


Whom the Gods Love

by Prinzenhasserin



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-21 08:12:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12453228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin
Summary: The implications of Hamiathes' Gift and the Minister of War grieving his wife.





	Whom the Gods Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shewhoguards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoguards/gifts).



The funeral procession for the Queen Thief starts at the throne hall. The dead body of his wife is laid out, ready to be carried to the pyre. The air in the large hall feels stale, as if any moment the air will collapse in his throat, suffocating him.

He holds himself up with the grip on the shoulders of his sons. He is Minister of War, he must manage to walk the procession. It is difficult to remain standing. It is not difficult to keep his face set in stone. His daughters are crying; and the wailers are making a ruckus. It’s very appropriate. He makes a note to thank whoever was responsible for the arrangements— his brother-in-law, probably. 

They walk behind the casket, out of the throne hall to the pyre at the temple. The Minister of War straightens when they arrive at the guard of honour. It is revolting. He does not want to see his wife honoured this way, would rather have her be alive for a day more, a week more, a month more, a lifetime. 

He has to get through this despite his distaste for the custom. She is dead, after all. It won’t help raging. She fell, and gravity was there to give her the rest. An accident — a terrible, heartbreaking accident, and its nobody’s fault but hers.

He stands tall. He cannot allow himself to show his grief, because it is despairing, and depthless. He will handle this, for the sake of his children.

His eyes aren’t focused on the proceedings. Maybe if he can keep his attention from what is happening, it will not hurt as much. It is a desperate hope. It will not matter.

What matters is this; his wife fell. He is alone. There are the children.

He does not cry. He thinks his children may resent him for it. He cannot summon his grief. It is there, but it does not come out in tears, it does not come out in screams.

His wife is dead.

. 

.

.

The Legitimation of Eddis was a dream come true. The Minister of War watches his son stumble forward — so very relieved that Eugenides made it through his foolhardy task unharmed.

His son stumbles forward, and at first he doesn’t realise the enormity of what happens. Admittedly, he did not think Eugenides would find the stone. Admittedly, he thought the stone’s abilities were exaggerated. But the stone is real, and there is no doubt in his mind that this is Hamiathes’ Gift.

He can’t help it; he sucks in a breath. The small, innocent stone slips into the hands of his Queen, and yet he cannot think of success in anything but the negative. He does not doubt. He cannot doubt. The gods are real. A nightmare— since they have already forsaken him long ago.

It breaks his heart all over again. The thought of his wife, trusting, jumping; and then falling anyway, and her god hadn’t tried to catch her. Let her fall. He sees her expression in his son’s face, standing there, triumphant; but it is rage that builds up in him, not pride.

For a second, he thinks to temper it, thinks it will give Gen the wrong impression, like it always does; but then his mind catches onto Eugenides — and he can’t. He grips his hands, nails bitting into his flesh. 

The god his wife worshipped is real, and he had forsaken her. His wife, devout, who sacrificed her every piece of loot on the altars of a god that many neglected. His wife, who named her son after the god, a sacrifice greater than they both had known — and yet the gods had forsaken her.

The burning rage doesn’t escape. The Minister of War knows his duty. And it will not do to lash out against the gods in a fit of anger, not now, now that he knows they are real. There are no sons he can prop himself up today, he cannot be a burden to his son in his moment of triumph… He feels himself fall apart in the face of the cruelty of his own gods.

The touch of a warm hand keeps him upright. "Cruel are the gods," his daughter says, and takes a stand at his side.


End file.
